


Goddess in the Running

by dreamhouse



Category: Veronica Mars (TV)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-29
Updated: 2014-03-29
Packaged: 2018-01-17 01:17:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1368616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamhouse/pseuds/dreamhouse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Veronica yawns, slapping a hand over her glossed-pink mouth. "Oh, Lilly."</p><p>All Lilly does is turn over so she's lying on her back, eyes shut from Veronica's disappointed stare. "Oh, me."</p><p>*season 1 spoilers</p>
            </blockquote>





	Goddess in the Running

i.

Lilly Kane might liken herself to Aphrodite.

With fat, rounded lips the color of peaches and sword-like eyes, cutting and glinting, intense and impure. She's all fire and no stillness, all heat and frustration stuffed in her stomach as if she were a toy bear. She's all talk and all play, all mansions and high fences and sneaking into horrible boys' rooms after curfew. She's the growling noises ripping out of Logan's throat when he comes, she's the way she presses her finger against his mouth when it dares to say, "I love you." To that he snaps silent. There's a power in that, being able to curl someone along your little finger, to be able to decide when you want to love them. Lilly Kane is a ticking time bomb. She's the clock on his snowstorm white walls, ticking, breathing, dividing his time without his asking. Oh, infatuation. How it hurts. She dips her messy-haired head in order to kiss his hard shoulder, her heart not even breaking when a small little smile forms in his lips and she knows, knows that she's going to hurt him, so, so badly. She's just so godly. She's a heart sliced in half, an apocalypse that doesn't apologize. She knows everything. She feels nothing.

On one particular Tuesday night, after being dragged to watch Duncan's soccer game, she somehow ends up in Logan's room, absentmindedly observing the Playboys stuffed under his too-big mattress and the clothes strewn haphazardly on the tan carpet without so much a second thought. She thinks that she could die here: and not because of him, with his puffy cheeks and cartoon hearts flying wildly out of his eyes, but because of the salvation she feels as he's rubbing his swollen, soft lips on the inside of her thigh. Because he's fucking her and she's enjoying it. Because she won't make eye contact when all she sees is her reflection, being smothered in her too-perfect face like a pie.

Oh, I will hurt you, Logan Echolls, she thinks to herself, not bothering to time stamp her mental diary. And you'll enjoy it.

ii.

It's just so lonely, is the problem.

She's in the bath, bubbles rolling over he naked body, slippery like butter. She's down to her cuticles again: biting nervously, chewing on the nail and skin. So much for manicures. It's a nervous habit, sure, but it's soothing: soothing the way fucking guys other than Logan is, soothing the way brushing powdery eye-shadow onto Veronica's eyelids is, soothing the way screaming at her parents is. It's a manifestation, of sorts, a release. A reminder that she's something other than a clutter of uncertainty. She feels like a dog, messy, slick hair matted around her chin and down, panting with how uncomfortable she suddenly feels. In an attempt to find something solid to hold onto, she makes grabby hands at the fancy lotion planted next to the foot of the tub that she snatched from Celeste's bureau. Finally straining her torso enough, she reaches the bottle, uncaps it, and pours too much of it in her cupped hands. It smells delicious, like chocolate or something. Mindlessly, she slathers herself up with it, the cool stuff contrasting with her hot skin. She notes a purple coin-sized bruise on her inner knee, and grins devilishly as she spins the stuff all over it, knowing that she's wanted. She tears off the cap completely and pours it all over her chest, chucking it into the nearest trash can like a basketball. "Sorry, Mom," she mutters to herself, surveying the damage on her nails again. It's so quiet. It's so quiet. The quiet is the only thing that hurts her. Solitude is the only thing that scares her. She needs to be noticed, needs to be needed, needs to piss people off and turn people on and leave some sort of impression. She thinks of biting Logan's neck. She sinks her heavy head in the water, defeated.

Lilly Kane, a lone wolf. As if.

iii.

Veronica is laying on her bed. Her head is hidden in Lilly's pillow: she's been crying for an hour, a flurry of balled-up tissues surrounding her trembling figure. Lilly rubs her back, trying to comfort her the best she can. Lilly's no good with words. It's hard to understand how or why this happened: Veronica was the perfect girlfriend, sickeningly sweet to her stupid brother, and she doesn't get it. She doesn't get how Duncan can just trash a relationship like that, how he can play video games with his buddies while Veronica is gulping, as if she's a goldfish taken out of the bowl. "Hey, you," she murmurs, soft. It's her best attempt at being nurturing. She's just not the nurturing type. But she fucking loves Veronica, and it fucking kills her how sad she is. She just can't keep on like this. She's not a mother. She doesn't coddle. So all she does is pull a half-finished bottle of Vodka from her pristine-painted drawers with the heart-framed handles and place her lips by Veronica's ear. "Do you wanna get wasted?"

She excepts Veronica to scold her, to be mad, to storm out and leave Lily like the bad friend she is. But that's not what happens at all. Instead, she whips her body around and up and takes hold of the bottle, taking a wildly long sip before wiping her mouth on the back of her hand. Lilly just raises a brow and then takes back the bottle, sipping it even more wildly than Veronica, because if anything, it's her job to put on a show, to keep up the pace other people set and to make it faster. Veronica's dress is riding up her thighs, her dress strap is hanging off her shoulder. She's a wreck. She's a mess. "Boys suck," she says, simply, before sinking back into the headboard.

Lilly tries not to think about heartbreak. "Yeah...," she's almost jealous of Veronica, for feeling something, for loving someone. She wishes she loved Logan enough to take hard sips of Vodka and cry her mascara onto the pillowcase. "...They do."

 

 IV.

"Pass the sunblock," Lilly orders Veronica, the sun beating like a drum on her back. Veronica's donning a floppy hat that casts a fat shadow along the top of her forehead: she looks kind of funny, with the white stuff smeared across her tiny nose and not quite rubbed in. "Please. I'm burning."

With a dazed look on her face, Veronica passes over the round bottle, sitting back on her elbows. "What? You don't want to get a tan?"

Lilly shrugs, examining the amount she's squeezed into her hands. "Already have one. I'd rather not get sunburned before my date tonight."

"Where's Logan taking you?"

Lilly flashes a wicked grin, mouth red and sloppy from the lollipop she'd been sucking on five minutes prior. "S'not Logan," she drawls, twirling a strand of blonde hair around her index finger. "It's that cute guy we met at the gas station."

Veronica yawns, slapping a hand over her glossed-pink mouth. "Oh, Lilly."

All Lilly does is turn over so she's lying on her back, eyes shut from Veronica's disappointed stare. "Oh, me."

 

V.

Lilly's going to die.

It all come back to her when the ash tray's flying towards her head: her family, her friends, her lovers, her name, all rolling together in the split second she has of self-realization before she's falling to the edge of the pool.

Lilly would liken herself to Persephone, maybe, because she ate the berries, she ate the berries and now she's in hell and there's no way out. Now she's dead and her boyfriend's father is looming over her like a kite shadow. The tapes she put in her vent were the transaction, and now it's winter on earth and she's stuck away from all those she loves, now thrown in some unspoken place that not even she knows.

Oh, Lilly. Oh, you.

 

 


End file.
